


So Bright and Wondrous Sheen

by havocthecat



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: F/F, Femslash, First Time, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-23
Updated: 2009-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havocthecat/pseuds/havocthecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Guinevere did not listen to the voice that whispered inside her that Morgan was such as well, and queen of her own realm, in her own right, without recourse to a husband to command her. After all, was not Morgan's husband sitting on her left?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	So Bright and Wondrous Sheen

Guinevere had heard rumors that her husband had the blood of the Fair Folk running through his veins. She had attributed that to jealousy of all that he had accomplished, brought by those who envied the attentions that the Lady of the Lake paid him. Guinevere was no young maid, nor a fool to be anything other than grateful for the gift of Excalibur. The sword was sharper than any man or woman's tongue, and the mere sight of it strapped to her husband's side as he took Communion was enough to silence the most vicious of gossips.

At tonight's feast, however, Guinevere could not set aside the rumors so easily. Her husband's sister had deigned to grant them with her presence. Morgan sat on Arthur's other side, Uriens forgotten as she leaned to whisper in her brother's ear. She was small and dark of countenance, and wore a loose gown in deep sapphire, covered by an overtunic of royal purple. Arthur laughed in a way she had not often seen, and drank deeply of the wine in his goblet.

Guinevere's features were serene as she settled the folds of her heavy purple gown in her lap. Queen of the Fair Folk indeed. She was the daughter of a king, and the wife of another, not a foolish peasant girl to believe such superstitions. She did not listen to the voice that whispered inside her that Morgan was such as well, and queen of her own realm, in her own right, without recourse to a husband to command her. After all, was not Morgan's husband sitting on her left?

***

The seasons wore on, and Morgan's visit continued. Uriens was befuddled, more often than not, and none knew what was behind the disordered nature of his thoughts. He was often gone hunting and questing with Arthur's knights. Guinevere noticed, of course, that Arthur accompanied them much of the time, and it fell to her, as mistress of the castle, to entertain his sister.

It was more often, rather than less, that Morgan rose with the dawn. She graced Guinevere's solar with her presence, and the faint hint of wild roses clung to her skin. Long ago, Guinevere had persuaded herself that she did not care to know the scent of Morgan's skin, but when Morgan leaned close, she could not help the catch of her breath.

It did not help that the small, secret smile on Morgan's lips was shared with her alone, and the instant one of their ladies in waiting arrived, Morgan's face settled into perfect composure, and she turned her eyes toward her knot work. Her embroidery was full of complicated pictures, designs that Guinevere's eyes could barely follow. There were those who thought magic worked with the threads. Many nights Guinevere lay awake, wondering what spells her husband's sister worked on Camelot.

There were days and nights Guinevere could not but think herself mad for trying to draw that smile from Morgan time and again.

***

It was the winter solstice, and Morgan had claimed she was unbearably stultified by the smoke from Arthur's great hall. She and Guinevere were walking arm-in-arm in the gardens, but the night air's chill was a welcome bite against her skin. While Morgan was with her, the seasons were felt ever more keenly than with any others.

"Is it not so?" asked Morgan. She glanced at Guinevere, that smile appearing on her mouth once again as Guinevere shook herself from her reverie.

"Is not what so?" It was barely possible for Guinevere to speak, so distracted was she by Morgan's amusement, and the charming way her eyes danced.

"Is it not so that you once dwelled in my lands?" Morgan stopped and studied Guinevere, her head tilted, and her hair falling loose against her shoulders. In the moonlight, with the torches and shadows flickering upon her face, Morgan looked yet more like one of the Fair Folk she was rumored to be.

"I have never been to Rheged. You know that full well." Guinevere shook her head to clear it. There must have been smoke in her eyes, for Morgan's countenance was mortal once more.

"I think perhaps you know more of them than you wish yourself to remember." Morgan's smile was secret, to be shared by them alone. Guinevere shivered, her eyes widening as shadows drew around them. The guards vanished in a haze of smoke, and it was as if even the trees pulled together to shield them from unwanted attention. "I speak not of Rheged, but of the Summer Court. I have seen you ride with them, I think, though many years have passed since I have graced the Winter Court with my presence."

"You _are_ one of--" Guinevere fell silent as Morgan's hand cupped her face. Morgan's long fingers stroked her cheek, and the chills that ran through her veins were not something that the fire's warmth could dissipate.

"My brother does not understand such things as you and I were born to." Morgan's eyes were deep and smoky, not the same color as Arthur's when Guinevere looked deep into them. Of a certainty, Gorlois was Morgan's father, just as Uther had sired Arthur. Guinevere had seen portraits of both men hidden away in the least frequented galleries of Camelot.

There was a rime of frost on Morgan's lips as they met hers. Guinevere opened her mouth from the shock of her kiss, and when she gasped, it allowed Morgan to pull her closer.

"But we cannot." Guinevere thought to tug herself away, but Morgan held her gown fast. Droplets of water melted against her neck as Morgan kissed along the column of her throat, and she tried, once again, to bring her muddled thoughts together. The cold made her so lethargic, so unwilling to push Morgan's hands away from her. "You are sister to my husband. You are _married_."

"Neither my husband nor yours will know." Morgan's palm rubbed gentle circles against her breast. Guinevere thought of her husband's blue eyes, bright and shining in the light of the fire, but when she met Morgan's gaze, smoke drifted, and shadows wrapped around them both.

***

Guinevere did not know how she came to be unclothed, her body twined around Morgan's. This whole night spoke of unnatural magics and dark purposes. It could not be that she wanted this. It could _not_, though a soft inner voice spoke and told her that she did.

They did not fit together in the same way a man and a woman did, but Morgan's soft, rounded body was pleasing under her hands. Guinevere's breath could warm Morgan's icy skin, and her touch made Morgan shudder and moan. If she could but stop Morgan's voice, or make the woman close her eyes, then perhaps Guinevere could spare a moment for thought.

Guinevere lay on her back, Morgan atop her. Her thighs, with soft and white skin, were splayed, and Morgan's fingers stroked between them. It was not right, but she found herself wanting this, tilting her hips toward Morgan's fingers. When they slipped, ever so slowly, inside her, Guinevere twined her fingers through green vines trailing along the ground. The sharp tang of sap leaking from broken leaves filled the air. She held back a sharp cry as shudders wracked her body.

As she breathed deep of the night air, her body settling back against the ground, something uncurled inside Guinevere. A whisper of magic brushed against her as she looked up. Morgan's gaze was sharp still, but softened more than she had ever seen it before. "You remember. It has taken you long enough."

This time it was Guinevere who smiled.

\--end--


End file.
